Love With the Proper Husband (16 page)

Perhaps he already had. Gwen remembered his impassioned address on the night he’d proposed and his confession that his friends thought him unemotional and too collected. But there were those moments, in the brief time they’d shared thus far, when he retreated behind an amused and remote façade. Of course, Gwen too had a public manner far different from her private self.

“I should warn you, Gwendolyn, sons grow up and go their own way, disregarding your wishes or advice. However, I have heard daughters are daughters all of their days.” She squeezed Gwen’s arm affectionately. “And I am so pleased to have one now.”

“I am pleased as well, my lady.” Gwen forced a pleasant smile and wished she didn’t feel quite so awkward. But aside from Madame and Colette, she’d never been freely offered affection from anyone before. Affection that asked nothing in return. It was most disconcerting. Marcus’s mother studied her for a moment, then smiled her son’s wry smile. “Oh dear. I see you have a great deal in common with my son. This is indeed an interesting match.”

“I have no idea what you are telling her, Mother, but I am certain I would not like it.” Marcus appeared at Gwen’s side. “However, I would like to steal my bride”—he said the word smoothly, as if he had practiced—“for a few moments, if you have no objections.”

“Marcus.” Lady Pennington’s brow furrowed in admonishment. “There are any number of people here who would like to meet her. She is, after all is said and done, the new Countess of Pennington.”

“She is, after all is said and done, my wife,” Marcus said firmly, and took Gwen by the arm. “I’ve been told the garden is in bloom, and I should like you to see it.” He steered her toward the door.

“It is lovely but you have never been especially interested in the gardens. I don’t see…” His mother’s exasperated sigh lingered behind them. “Do try not to keep her too long.”

A muscle in Marcus’s jaw ticked and his voice was low. “Wouldn’t want to do that.”

He led her out of the parlor, along a grand corridor, and through a gallery lined with portraits of what she assumed were previous Earls of Pennington and their assorted progeny, and into what was apparently a conservatory, although she had no idea precisely where she was in the grand house. And he did so at a speed that precluded any attempt she might make at conversation.

“Do you really want me to see the gardens?” Gwen struggled to keep up with him.

“Yes, of course,” he said absently, practically pulling her along behind him. “They’re lovely.”

“Or so you’ve been told.” She tried, and failed, to match her pace to his. “You certainly don’t strike me as the type of man who is especially given to the appreciation of nature.”

“I have a great appreciation of nature.” His tone was as brisk as his stride. “I quite like the out-of-doors.”

“As do I.” She gasped.

“I find it easier to breathe freely with the skies overhead and the earth beneath my feet. In point of fact, while I do spend a great deal of my time in town, it is, in truth, the countryside I prefer. Do you—”

He glanced down at her and stopped so abruptly she nearly smacked into him. “I say, are you all right?”

“Quite, no thanks to you.” She glared up at him. “I realize your need to
breathe freely
might well overcome all other considerations, but you cannot drag me along at breakneck speed and expect me not to feel a bit of a strain. You are considerably taller and considerably faster and—”

Without warning he laughed.

“What on earth is so funny?” She planted her hands on her hips. “I see nothing amusing about being hauled through your house—”

“Your house as well now,” he said with a grin.

“Even worse,” she snapped.

“I do apologize if I have been overly eager to escape the crowd we have found ourselves besieged by.”

A footman she hadn’t noticed stepped forward from the shadows to pull open a door Gwen hadn’

t noted either.

Marcus directed her toward the exit. “I simply assumed you too needed a respite.”

She stepped past him and onto a broad flagstone terrace. It was thoughtful of him to consider her, even if, for whatever reason, she wasn’t ready to acknowledge such thoughtfulness at the moment. It was just so blasted
nice
of him. “It was something of a crush, wasn’t it? I admit, I was rather surprised and indeed somewhat—”

“Overwhelmed?” He smiled in a too knowing manner and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow.

“Perhaps.” She gazed up at him coolly. “A bit.”

“Well, I admit I was more than a bit overwhelmed myself. I suspect the inundation here was my mother’s doing. Most of those who have so coincidentally descended on us this afternoon are friends of hers.” He guided Gwen toward the edge of the terrace and steps leading down into a formal garden.

“Don’t look behind you.”

“Why? Is someone following us?”

“Only with their eyes.” He glanced back at the house. “There are any number of people, my mother prime among them, discreetly peering at us from the parlor windows.”

“Really?” She resisted the urge to check. “Why?”

A corner of his mouth quirked upward, and at once she knew the answer. Heat flushed up her face. “Oh my.”

“However”—his hand slipped down her arm to firmly grasp her hand—“while this garden is not especially large, it is designed so that those seeking privacy from observation need simply descend the stair and follow the path along the wall of the terrace to a secluded niche protected by marble guardians. It comes in quite handy at balls and soirées and the like for intimate assignations.”

“And you have firsthand knowledge of this?”

His grin said more than mere words and was most annoying.

“So are we seeking privacy, my lord?” There was a slight flirtatious lilt to her voice, and she wondered where on earth that had come from.

“We are,” he said without hesitation and started down the steps, his fingers firmly entwined with hers. She had no choice but to accompany him. And no desire to do otherwise. “We have a great deal to talk about.”

“I see. So the privacy you seek in the gardens is for nothing more than discussion?”

He ignored the question. “Have you noticed how few of our callers have expressed surprise at the news of our nuptials?”

She nodded. “And those who have do not seem especially sincere.”

“They are dreadful actors, one and all.” His brows pulled together thoughtfully. “It is probably of no significance, but as it has been less than a week since the need to marry surfaced and no more than two days since you agreed to do so, it strikes me as exceedingly odd that the majority of my mother’s acquaintances are not so much as mildly surprised by our abrupt and unexpected wedding.”

They reached the foot of the stairs and started down the walkway. “Does it matter?”

“Probably not.” He continued on until the path curved away from the wall, then abruptly widened to a circular alcove sheltered by high, clipped hedges.

A stone bench sat positioned toward the back of the alcove, concealed behind a life-sized marble statue of three women with arms entwined. They stood on an oval-shaped base rising a good three feet above the ground. It was an extremely large piece overall, carved in the classic Greek style and quite lovely. She gazed up at the towering figures whose own eyes were cast modestly downward and couldn’

t help but wonder what the mythical trio of Muses or Graces or something equally as whimsical thought of the activities that apparently took place here right beneath their noses.

“My, this is private,” she murmured, peering around the statue. Two people could easily remain hidden behind it, lingering on the bench unobserved.

“Do you mind?” A wry half smile lifted his lips. “Being alone here? With me?”

“Not at all.” She pulled her hand from his and stepped toward the statue as if there was nothing more in the world she wished to do than study the work. As if she hadn’t the slightest desire to put a bit of distance between them. As if she was not aware of every breath he took. “I suspect we shall spend a great deal of our time alone together in the future.” Her voice remained aloof, remote, but there was the oddest fluttering deep in her midsection.

“No doubt.” He too stepped closer, as if he too wished to study the ladies in their classical poses and marble gowns. Was his interest as feigned as hers? “Do you like it?”

She started. “Being alone with you?”

“I was talking about the statue,” he said lightly.

He had the decency not to look at her or crack so much as the slightest smile. Her cheeks burned, and she was grateful for his courtesy. He studied the figures before him, his brow furrowed in a considering manner. “What do you think?”

“It’s lovely, of course.” She ran her hand over the carved folds of the gown of the nearest figure. Smooth and cold against her fingers, still oddly warm from his touch. “Is it original? From ancient Greece, I mean?”

“I doubt it, but it could be, I suppose.” Marcus shrugged. “It’s been here as long as I can remember.”

“And you are nearly thirty. That is ancient,” she said, again surprised at the teasing note in her voice. What was wrong with her? In spite of her resolve to show him nothing more than courtesy and perhaps a cordial friendship, she was definitely flirting with the man. The unbidden memory of his lips on hers flashed through her mind, and she cast him a surreptitious glance. His gaze remained fixed on the statue, and she stifled an oddly disappointed sigh. He was right; she would know when he intended to kiss her, and it was obvious he had no such intentions now.

“Indeed.” He nodded in a somber manner. “Miss Townsend?” He glanced curiously at her. “What were your intentions?”

I intended to allow you to kiss me.
She pushed aside the abrupt and shocking thought. “What do you mean?”

“Regarding your life. If you did not wish to wed, what were your plans?”

“My plans?”

“Surely you had some thoughts about your future? Some sort of course of action as to how you would spend the rest of your days?”

“Why no,” she said, as surprised to hear the words as he. “I don’t believe I did.”

He raised a brow.

“Oh, don’t look at me as if I were an idiot, Marcus.” Impatience sounded in her voice. “As hard as this may be to believe for a man of your nature, since the death of my father I have scarcely thought further than the next day or the next position. I never particularly considered the future, in truth, I never had the luxury of time in which to do so, and I suppose I never really suspected there was much of a future to consider.”

He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the statue. “What do you mean by
a
man of my nature
?”

Her hand rested on the marble a scant inch or so from him and she resisted the urge to rest it on his arm and instead let it drop to her side. “I simply meant a man as confident, as reserved as you are.”

He started to say something but she waved him silent. “Oh, I have not forgotten your comments the other day as to your sentimental streak, although I’m not entirely sure I believe it.” She considered him for a moment. “I cannot imagine you being swept away by emotion for more than an instant or two. Nor can I imagine you not having your life perfectly laid out for you. Planned down to the tiniest detail.”

He stared for a moment. “I believe, Miss Townsend, you may well have insulted me.”

“It was not my intention.”

“That’s something at any rate,” he muttered. “Down to the tiniest detail, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Then apparently I planned”—his eyes twinkled with amusement—“you and I.”

“Of course not, that was—”

“Fate, Miss Townsend,” he said firmly. “More and more I believe you and I were destined to come together.”

“That’s nonsense, my lord, why would you think that?”

“We could start with your history. A simple mistake on the part of an inexperienced solicitor, and you are off for parts unknown and a life completely foreign to the one you expected to lead. You thereby sacrificed a proper season and any number of opportunities to meet suitable matches and marry long before we met.”

“But I had no desire to wed,” she said primly. “Therefore the possibility—”

“May I continue?”

She sighed. “I daresay I can’t stop you.”

“I, on the other hand, had any number of chances to marry, yet I did not. Why?”

“Because you find the usual process of choosing a wife too businesslike and impersonal?” she said sweetly.

“Ah, the joys of having a wife who listens to her husband.” His tone was wry. “And better yet, to have a wife who will throw your statements back at you. I can see I am in for a good time of it.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She grinned.

“As you have so thoughtfully pointed out, I have found the usual methods not to my taste. Nor have I been lucky, or unlucky enough given my observation of Berkley’s experiences, to fall under the spell of love. Therefore, when the moment came that you entered my life and my father’s bizarre plot was revealed, I was free to marry you.” He flashed a smug smile. “Fate.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “I scarcely think a series of random events equates fate.”

“Fate is a series of random events, or seemingly random events, that culminate in a specific outcome. In this case, you and I.” Triumph colored his face. “I believe we are fated to be together. It is somehow right. Even proper, as it were.”

She shook her heard. “I believe that’s the most—”

“There’s more. Would you care to hear it?”

“As it is so very entertaining, even if total absurdity.” She lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug, refusing to reveal so much as a hint of her intrigue with his claim. “Please do continue.”

“Very well.” He straightened and paced before the statue. “When you originally told me you had never planned to marry I wondered what plans you did have for your life. Now that you have confessed you had not considered your future, it is clear to me that our marriage is the best course of action for you. Certainly our fathers thought so. It may even perhaps be what you were always meant to do.”

“Is it?”